“Cougar. Thar's a big feller has the run of this canyon.”
“Cougar? I thought it was a mountain-lion.”
“Cougar, painter, panther, lion--all the same critter. An' if you leave
him alone he'll not bother you, but he's bad in a corner.”
“He scared away the coyotes.”
“Youngster, even a silver-tip--thet's a grizzly bear--will make tracks
away from a cougar. I lent my pack of hounds to a pard over near
Springer. If I had them we'd put thet cougar up a tree in no time.”
“Are there many lions--cougars here?”
“Only a few. Thet's why there's plenty of deer. Other game is plentiful,
too. Foxes, wolves, an', up in the mountains, bears are thick.”
“Then I may get to see one--get a shot at one?”
“Wal, I reckon.”
From that time I trod on air. I found myself wishing for my brother Hal.
I became reconciled to the loss of mustang and outfit. For a moment
I almost forgot Dick and Buell. Forestry seemed less important than
hunting. I had read a thousand books about old hunters and trappers,
and here I was in a wild mountain canyon with a hunter who might have
stepped out of one of my dreams. So I trudged along beside him, asking
a question now and then, and listening always. He certainly knew what
would interest me. There was scarcely a thing he said that I would ever
forget. After a while, however, the trail became so steep and rough that
I, at least, had no breath to spare for talking. We climbed and climbed.
The canyon had become a narrow, rocky cleft. Huge stones blocked the
way. A ragged growth of underbrush fringed the stream. Dead pines, with
branches like spears, lay along the trail.
We came upon a little clearing, where there was a rude log-cabin with
a stone chimney. Skins of animals were tacked upon logs. Under the bank
was a spring. The mountain overshadowed this wild nook.
“Wal, youngster, here's my shack. Make yourself to home,” said Hiram
Bent.
I was all eyes as we entered the cabin. Skins, large and small, and of
many colors, hung upon the walls. A fire burned in a wide stone grate. A
rough table and some pans and cooking utensils showed evidence of recent
scouring. A bunch of steel traps lay in a corner. Upon a shelf were
tin cans and cloth bags, and against the wall stood a bed of glossy
bearskins. To me the cabin was altogether a most satisfactory place.
“I reckon ye're tired?” asked the hunter. “Thet's some pumpkins of a
climb unless you're used to it.”